


Die Hard: Ho Ho Holby

by ProfessorFlimflam



Series: Heroine of Holby [1]
Category: Holby City
Genre: Can she fix it?, Character Death Fix, Elinor Lives, Everybody Lives, Except Arthur, F/F, Fix it with a hint of crack, Fix-It, Jasmine Lives, M/M, Raf lives, Sorry Not Sorry, yes she can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-17 00:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13065657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFlimflam/pseuds/ProfessorFlimflam
Summary: Bernie arrives home from the Sudan to find Holby in lockdown, an unknown gunman on the rampage inside. There’s no way in or out of the building - unless, of course, you’re a member of Her Majesty’s armed forces.After Arthur’s death, she had promised herself that she would never let anything happen to Serena’s AAU family if it was within her power. She intends to keep that promise.





	1. Is There A Major In The House?

**Author's Note:**

> Right. That’s it - enough. Too many people have died this year, and Bernie and I are just Not Having It. As other people have said, what Holby needed that week was a trauma surgeon - and with Fredrik on the rampage, a trained soldier wouldn’t have gone amiss either. Hey - guess who we know that’s both of those things?
> 
> And let’s face it - who among us doesn’t want to see Bernie Wolfe in a dirty white singlet, crawling though ventilation shafts and kicking Swedish arse? I know I do.
> 
> OK - let’s fix the shit out of this baby.

_Hi Bernie,_  
_Hope your last week in Sudan is going well and you’re looking forward to coming home? Things here have been crazy with all the upset about the merger with St Francis, but I'm sure it’s all pretty tame stuff compared with what you and your patients go through so I’m not complaining, just glad we’ve all still got our jobs._  
_Having said that, I told you about the investigation that Mr Griffin and Donna have been going through - well, it’s still ongoing, but I’m a bit worried about some things Donna has said about Mrs Warren’s son, Jeremy. He hangs around AAU a lot, and she’s had some weird phone calls from him. It feels like stalking to me - she says it’s all OK, but everything feels a bit off. Would you mind talking to her when you’re home and see what you think?_  
_Got to go - red phone ringing. Can’t wait to see you and hear all about Sudan - not long now!_  
_Love,_  
_Morven_

***

Major Berenice Wolfe of the RAMC swung her backpack onto her shoulder and strode through the arrivals lounge at Holby International airport. She stood uncertainly for a moment at the taxi rank, mentally tossing a coin. Heads, her flat, tails, to Serena’s house. Her flat held little appeal these days, and she was as sure as she could be that she would let the lease expire when it came up for renewal. She had left a few bits and pieces there, but it was little more than a high end storage facility for her now, as she had been living at Serena’s house with Jason while her partner had been away.

Serena herself wouldn’t be back in England for a few days yet. When Elinor had first been released from hospital following her accident, Serena had returned to work part time, but it had quickly become apparent that Elinor’s brain injury had wrought such significant changes in her personality that she would need prolonged rest and recovery, and she and her mother would need more time to get to know each other anew. Hanssen had agreed an extended leave of absence for Serena, and she had taken Elinor to the south of France where they had been spending their days picking grapes, taking long walks to help re-build Elinor’s strength, eating simple but good food, and learning how to be mother and daughter again in this new altered reality.

The clinician in Serena couldn’t help but be fascinated by the mental and emotional changes that the physiological event had brought about. She reported to Bernie that while Elinor’s memory had remained unaffected, her disposition seemed to have suffered a tremendous change - though “suffered” hardly seemed the right word when she was so much happier and contented than she had been since her childhood. The cynical, sarcastic veneer had been stripped away by the bleed in her brain, leaving behind the cheerful, loving girl that Serena remembered from before her divorce.

As awful as the accident had been, it was hard not to see it as a blessing in disguise, and she was thankful every day for Dr Burrows’ quick thinking and her candour. Not only had she picked up on the unusual speech patterns that Elinor had displayed immediately after the collision, but she had alerted the team to the likelihood of the presence of cocaine in her bloodstream, ensuring that Guy Self had been equipped with the full picture before he operated to remove the clot on her brain. Jasmine’s diligence had been rewarded with a post on AAU for at least the duration of Serena’s absence, and she had proved an admirable addition to the team under Bernie’s mentorship, and with peer support from Morven.

Bernie had been glad about the appointment: for all her faults, Jasmine was a promising young doctor, and it had ensured that she had been kept largely out of the way of Fran Reynolds, whose obsession with her childhood abuser, and with Jac Naylor had led to Fran’s eventual detention under the Mental Capacity Act. Fran’s behaviour towards Jasmine had been strange and unsettling, but with Jasmine safely out of the way on AAU, she had been nowhere near Darwin when Fran finally broke down. When the Trauma Unit had been closed down, Jasmine had decided to stretch her wings and fly the Holby nest, and had been working at St Francis with their CT team, and Bernie hoped that Henrik would find a place for her back at Holby City following the merger.

Bernie heaved her backpack into the boot of taxi, her decision made. She would head home to Serena's house and set about turning it back into a home before Serena and Elinor came back, and start preparing for Christmas - a happier one than last year, she hoped. Jason had been living with his girlfriend, Celia’s family, and she wasn’t sure whether he would be moving back in with his aunt and cousin, but she would make sure his room was already for him if he needed it. Decision made, she gave the taxi driver Serena’s address, and checked her wallet to make sure she had enough cash to cover the fare. As she did, a folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor of the cab. Picking it up, she read Morven’s email again. She had been curious enough about the situation to print it off to mull over during her flight home, and as the taxi pulled out, she changed her mind.

“Do you know what? Scratch that - can you take me straight to Holby City Hospital, please? Wyvern Wing.”


	2. Lockdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look - Bernie’s in combat trousers, army boots and a white vest. Bet it doesn’t stay white for long...

As the taxi neared the hospital, it became obvious that something was very wrong. Several ambulances were queued up outside the admissions bay, which was nothing unusual, but in addition to that, dozens of patients were gathered around the the entrance, many on hospital beds or gurneys, and Bernie recognised several of her former colleagues corralling them away from the doors. Paying her fare, she swung her bag out of the back and dropped it unceremoniously next to the nearest ambulance.

“Fletch!” She barked. “What’s going on?”

Fletch turned to her with a harried look, which resolved briefly into an expression of relief at seeing her.

“Major! Thank goodness, someone with some common sense. We’re in lockdown - major incident protocol, but no-one seems to know what’s going on. The police are on their way - I don’t know what’s going on in there, but Hanssen’s called for police marksmen. In the meantime, no-one’s getting in or out, and we’ve got some seriously sick people out here. The power’s out on AAU, dunno about the rest of the building. Theatres should have emergency generators kicking in, but ours didn’t…”

“OK. You’ve got someone triaging this lot, yes? Good. Who’s in the most urgent need right now?”

Fletch gestured at the ambulance beside them.

“Neonatal case here - just given birth to twins and a single preemie conceived while she was already pregnant with the twins - she doesn’t even know about the singleton yet, thought she was just having twins. She’s only just come out of surgery, she was on ECMO when she came in so we’re keeping a close eye on her, but we need to get her back in there asap.”

Bernie hopped up into the ambulance and noted the woman's vitals with a practiced eye. “Hello there, don’t be fooled by the uniform - I’m a doctor, a trauma specialist. Call me Bernie.” She smiled reassuringly at the woman, who, not surpassingly, looked startled and bewildered at the sight of a solder in full camo leaping aboard her ambulance.

“Can you tell me what happened inside - what do you remember?”

“Not much - I still feel a bit out of it. Where’s Ezra?” Bernie looked at Fletch questioningly.

“Older kid - he’s inside with Donna.”

“Ezra’s fine,” Bernie replied smoothly, hoping she was right. “He’s with Nurse Jackson, our friendliest nurse. She’ll be looking after him beautifully, don’t worry. Can you tell me how you hurt your legs?”

She looked down at her legs, confused for a moment, then said, “I was in the lift - they were bringing me back after the C section. We were in the lift, and the door opened, then there was a loud noise - a bang, like a firework - and something hot hit my legs. There was someone there, I think - a dark coat, hood up - I can’t really remember. The doctor managed to get the door closed and got us downstairs, but I don’t know where he is now.”

“Which doctor was it? Did you catch his name?”

She wracked her brain, but it was too much. “Sorry, I don’t know. Dark hair, baby faced - nice looking. Scottish.”

Bernie looked up at Fletch again, sharing his look of concern. “I haven’t seen him out here - he must still be inside. There’s more blood on these sheets than she’s lost…” Fletch muttered in a low voice.

Bernie nodded., and turned back to their patient. “Right!” She said brightly. “Fletch here is going to make sure you’re taken good care of, and we’ll get those legs dressed.”

She jumped down from the back of the ambulance and strode over to the entrance. Several of the porters and security team were at the door, and despite her best efforts to bully her way in, they explained that only Hanssen could rescind the lockdown order, and he was currently operating on an injured colleague in the basement - no further details were available. Bernie struggled to make sense of it. There were no theatres in the basement - oh, but the lifts would be out of action due to the lockdown. That meant Hanssen was basically running a field hospital down there - she had to hope that he had access to adequate supplies for whatever he was doing - whoever he was operating on.

She glanced round, assessing the situation. Fletch seemed to have got things pretty well organised out here, but no-one knew what was going on inside - that was where she was needed. She clearly wasn’t going to be able to stroll in by the front door, but she thought she should be able to find a way in - she had always been secretly appalled at the security levels in civilian hospitals. Keeping her wits about her, she made her way round to the side of the building - and immediately saw a familiar figure behaving very suspiciously.

“Ric!” she hissed. “What are you doing? Tell me you’re not the major incident?”

“Bernie! Jesus, you made me jump. No - Donna thinks it’s a patient’s relative - long story, but he’s got a grudge against me, her and the hospital, and it looks as though he’s doing something about it. I need to get in there and make sure Donna’s all right.” He had grasped her hand briefly, but his eyes were busy scanning the windows and fire escapes, looking for a way in. “I’ve been right round the perimeter - I can’t find a way in anywhere. For once, Security seem to done a good job. Any ideas?”

“Yes - go home. Seriously, Ric, you shouldn’t be here, especially if you’re a target. Is this Jeremy Warren we’re talking about? Morven’s kept me in the loop.”

“I’m not going until I know Donna’s okay,” he said stubbornly. “She thinks it could be him - said she saw someone with a gun but she couldn't see his face. Who else would it be, though?”

Bernie pursed her lips. “There could be any number of people bearing a grudge against this place. Isaac Mayfield? Fran Reynolds? Goodness knows who else you’ve managed to piss off while I’ve been away - could be anyone. Any other unexpected departures recently?”

Ric laughed bitterly and reeled off the names. “Guy, Zosia, Henrik’s boy Frederik… the list goes on.”

She sighed. “I’m starting to feel homesick for the war zone - at least I knew who was trying to kill me then. Right. I need to get in there - you’re staying put. No - I mean it - you’re not to set foot inside, and you need to keep out of sight full stop. I just need a hand getting in.”

“I told you - there’s no way in. The place is practically a vacuum.”  
She smirked. “To the civilian eye, perhaps. Look - up there - no, a bit higher - that grille? It's a ventilation shaft. It looks as though it ought to get me in to the post room, if not beyond that. Have the key codes changed in the last few months? Well, they should have done! I’ll have a word about this afterwards. I wonder if Henrik would like a security consultant… Right. Give me a leg up, would you?”

Ric cupped his hands for her to step into and straightened up as she reached for the bottom of the grille. He winced as she shifted her boots onto his broad shoulders as she unscrewed the grille with her pocket knife. She tossed it softly onto the grass beyond him, and peered into the shaft. “Hang on a sec - I'm coming down.” She leaned one hand on Ric’s head and dropped to the floor.

“It’s doable, I think. It’s narrow, but I should be able to get through. Not with this on, though.” She unzipped her heavy jacket and shrugged it off, and after a moment’s thought, her khaki shirt followed suit, leaving her in a white singlet and her combat trousers. Ric stood slack-jawed for a moment, not having suspected that her slender frame might be upholstered with quite such well defined muscles, but quickly regained his composure.

“What about your boots? They'll make a hell of a racket in that shaft.”

Bernie looked at him scornfully. “Have you never seen Die Hard, Ric? Bare feet on broken glass - I don’t think so. I’ll be careful - don’t worry. Okay - let’s go again.”

This time, she gripped the edge of the shaft and swung herself up, Ric propelling her with a good shove to the soles of her boots. It was indeed narrow, but was room for her to crawl carefully into the dark, towards whatever - _whoever_ \- was waiting inside.


	3. Access All Areas

Bernie had been cold when she first pulled herself up into the ventilation duct, the chilled metal raising goosebumps on her arms as she cautiously elbowed her way along the narrow tunnel. The effort of crawling silently on her knees and forearms soon raised a sheen of sweat, though, and she could feel the dust clinging to her as she wiped her forehead. There was a dim light in the shaft from the open grille she had entered by, and up ahead she could see a glimmer from another inlet. She hoped she would be able to find an exit point soon - she didn’t fancy having to negotiate too many corners. She was slim enough, but tall, and she was fairly sure that these ducts hadn’t been designed with her long legs in mind.

Before too long she reached the source of the light: a grille set in the floor of the tunnel, giving her a good sight line to the room below. As she had calculated, it was the post room, and as far as she could see it was empty. It looked as though the porters were all either outside - she had seen a few by the door - or, hopefully, hunkered down wherever they had happened to be when Hanssen gave the order for lockdown. She wished she knew if Jason was due to be in that day: she fervently hoped not.

Pausing for a long moment, she listened intently, then, confident that there was no-one below, she lifted the grille and pushed it beyond the opening, then took a firm hold of the far edge and lowered herself down, hanging for a moment before dropping softly to the floor. She took a moment to roll and stretch her shoulders, glad of the training she had resumed in the Sudan, and sending silent thanks to the drill sergeant who had put her through her paces to recondition her.

Taking stock, she looked round the room. She knew that the external door would be locked, but there were two other doors: one, currently closed and secured with a keypad, which led out onto the main corridor which would take her to the foyer and the lifts, and another, standing slightly ajar, which she knew opened onto the porters’ office. Keeping her back to the wall she stepped silently round to the door and listened. Whoever was in there was breathing quietly but rapidly, and she could hear the soft click of a keyboard. Looking across to the Perspex case of the noticeboard opposite the door, she could make out the reflection of a familiar mop of curls, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Jason?” She called out quietly. “Jason, don’t be alarmed, it’s me - it’s Bernie. I’m going to come in now, all right?”

“Prove you’re really Bernie. What’s your middle name?”

Bernie rolled her eyes. “It’s Griselda, for my sins. Can I come in now?”

“Lots of people might know that. Who’s the best Doctor?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Bernie responded. “Tom Baker, though I’m keeping an open mind for Jodie Whittaker. Come on Jason, you recognise my voice - I’m coming in now.” She pushed the door open with the toe of her boot, and stepped into the room, holding her hands aloft in a placating gesture.

“Jason. I'm very glad to see you - are you all right?” He was seated at a bank of monitors which were fed by the CCTV cameras from all around the hospital, and she saw that the security system software was open on the PC.

He tolerated the squeeze to his shoulder she gave in greeting, and gave her a serious smile. “I’m glad to see you, too. I’m all right, but I don’t think Raf is. He didn’t come out of the lift when they took Mrs Cranham out, and the lifts aren’t working now Mr Hanssen’s shut everything down. There’s someone with a gun, and he shot inside the lift when it opened. There was a porter who got her out afterwards, but he couldn’t come back for Raf because everything stopped working - I think he must be stuck inside now. It’s all very worrying. Are you going to sort it all out now?”

He looked at her trustingly, and her heart clenched. “I’m going to try. And it looks as though you might be able to help me. Do you know how to use this?” She gestured at the PC screen running the security software.

“Bits of it. I know how to turn the keypads on and off, and how to change the codes.”

“I see. Can you change the code for one room on its own, or do you have to do them all at one go?”

He turned back to the screen and reviewed the options. “I should be able to do individual rooms - look, if I untick this box, it just does whichever rooms are selected. It’s very straightforward really.”

“That’s perfect. Have you got your mobile phone with you? I don't want to use the radios in case the other porters have got them switched on near the subject. Okay - keep it switched on and charged up, but keep it on silent just in case. I’m going to keep one ear of my headphones in and leave the phone call open, so don’t hang up on me once I’ve called. Now - first aid box?”

He retrieved the green box from a shelf behind him, and she went through it quickly and methodically, selecting a few dressings and a suture kit, and bundling them together in a small pack, which she clipped to her belt.

“We had a delivery this morning - I think there’s a box of saline bags. Do you want to take those as well?”

Bernie ripped the box open and shoved a couple of the bags into the capacious pockets of her combat trousers.

“Right. I'm going to go and see if I get to Raf. Which lift is he in? That’s behind the receptionists’ desk at the main entrance, to the left, yes? Okay. Watch the CCTV, and when you see me at the door, throw the switch, and again when you see me go in. It will only be back online for a second - no time for the subject to use the lift.”

He shook his head. “The lifts aren’t controlled from here. Estates and Maintenance look after them.”

“Shit. Okay. Plan B. Where’s your toolkit?” She rifled through the cupboard and stuck a couple of screwdrivers in her belt, and picked the sturdiest crowbar she could find. At the last moment, she picked up a pair of heavy leather gloves and tucked them into the back of her combats.

“I’m going to go and see if I can help Raf. Stay by the monitors and call me if you see anyone getting anywhere near that lift, or the same lift on the floor above. No - no arguing, Jason - I need you here. You’re my surveillance unit - keep me informed. I’m going to connect the call now - what’s the number?” She dialled it and waited for Jason to put his earpiece in and pick up. “Stay safe, Jason. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Her hand was on the door to the corridor, when he suddenly said, “You’re wrong actually. Tom Baker isn’t the best Doctor. You are.”

She looked at him, moved beyond words, and with a nod and a quick smile, she slipped through the door. Shutting it behind her, she hefted the crowbar in her hands and set off at a steady trot towards the lifts.

 


	4. Saving Mr Di Lucca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you even real, though, Bernie?

With Jason’s reassurance in her ear that the corridor was clear, Bernie swiftly made her way to the reception area and skirted round the open foyer to the bank of lifts. Jason confirmed that she had got the right one, and she tapped on the door as loudly as she dared.

“Raf? Can you hear me?”

She heard a faint groan from behind the steel doors and heaved a sigh of relief. She had found him, and he was alive. Thank God. She pushed the end of the crowbar into the seal of the doors, and gave an experimental twist. The metal started to give way almost immediately, but she paused and considered her options. If she trashed the door, it could cost them precious minutes afterwards when they were able to evacuate properly.

“Hold on, Raf, I’m going to get in there, but it’s going to take a minute or two. You hang tight, Okay?”

She swung round the corner to the stairs and took them two at a time, moving quickly but preserving her breath and energy. With the all clear from Jason, she got to work on the doors, the soft metal yielding to the crowbar and the strength and determination of one Bernie Wolfe. Prising the doors apart enough to squeeze through, she jammed the crowbar between them to keep them open. Retrieving the leather gloves, she put them on and reached into the lift shaft to grasp the thick, twisted cable, and hooking a knee round it, she let herself down at a controlled rate. Kneeling on the roof of the lift compartment, she used the screwdrivers to lever a panel free, and swung down into the cage, where Raf lay in a pool of blood. Christ, there was a lot of it.

“Okay Raf, I’ve got you. Can you talk to me? What happened?”

His breathing was rapid and shallow, and his hand, clasped to his neck, was slippery and shaking. She pulled out a thick dressing pad from the pouch at her waist and clapped it over what she could immediately see was a gunshot wound. There was a dent and a puncture in the wall of the cage, and she quickly surmised that the shot had grazed his neck, clipping his jugular. At least there was no bullet to retrieve from his neck, she thought grimly.

“Fredrik - it was Hanssen’s boy Fredrik… shotgun… got my patient out… couldn’t get out on my own… tell Fletch… tell Essie… oh God, Bernie.” She swam in and out of his blurring vision. “Are you real, Bernie? Are you an angel?”

She snorted. “Not if you ask Serena. You’re alive, Raf, and I’m going to make sure you stay that way. You’ve lost a hell of a lot of blood - I need to get some fluids in you right now.” Keeping one hand firmly on the dressing, she took one of the saline bags and hung it from the handrail. “Sorry about this,” she offered, as she shifted so that her knee was at his throat applying pressure to keep the bleeding to a minimum. Now that she had both hands free, she made quick work of cannulating him and starting the first bag running, and risked a look at his wound. It was still oozing, but the bleeding had slowed. Bernie didn’t know whether to be glad about that or not - the sluggish flow might just mean that he had bled out further than she had feared. It did mean that she could attempt repair, though. She did the best she could with the basic suture kit and tied off, applying a clean dressing and taping it in place.

Raf glanced up at her. “We could do with a vascular surgeon here, eh?” he joked feebly.

“I’d certainly be glad of Serena right now, yes,” she said wryly. “But she’ll be home soon - and we’ll both see her then. You know, it broke her heart when Arthur died, and I promised that I wouldn’t let anything happen to any of this little family again. Don’t go proving me wrong, now.”

She stuck the second bag under her armpit to warm it through, all the while monitoring his pulse. “This should help with the confusion - no more visions of angels with dirty faces. You’re pretty anaemic now, though.” She pulled his lower eyelid down and tutted at the paleness she found. “Okay, time for a bit of battlefield medicine if you’re up for it, soldier.” She cleaned the inside of her own elbow with a sterile wipe and, wincing slightly, pushed another cannula into her own vein, gritting her teeth at the discomfort.

“You’ll be delighted to hear that I’m a universal donor,” she told him, her voice calm and steady. “Very useful thing for a soldier, though it does mean I get hooked up with all kinds of people… You’re part of a very elite little group, now, Raf - you’re my blood brother. Look, we’ll even have matching scars.” Her hair had fallen around her neck, and she pulled it back to display her own scar, earned in the IED that had first brought her to Holby City. It was faded now, but still visible. “Practically twins,” she smiled.

Raf grasped at her hand with his own cold, bloodied fingers. “You’ve always been family, Bernie,” he croaked, and she looked away, her eyes dark and shining behind her long fringe.

“Shush - save your energy,” she said, but she squeezed his hand tightly for a long moment. She looked at the bag hanging from the rail. “That’s about done, I’d say. Ready for your upgrade?”

She unhooked the bag and fitted the line to her own cannula, twisting the screw to start the flow. She let it run through for a moment or two to flush the line, then completed her usual routine for a direct transfusion. “We have lift off. How does that feel?”

He smiled weakly. “Warm. Warmer than the saline. It’s good stuff.”

“An excellent vintage, I agree. Raf, is there anything else you can tell me that I need to know about Fredrik - about any of it?”

In slow, short sentences, Raf summed up what he knew about the junior doctor prize, about the support that Henrik had given to Dom but had been unable to provide his own son. She shook her head gravely when she learned that the young man had stayed in Holby when his wife and son had returned to Sweden. Although she and Serena had been living apart this year, there had been good reason for it, and their situation was very different from Fredrik’s - but to leave his wife and baby son to pursue a dream he must surely have known was already lost to him - that betrayed an obsession beyond healthy ambition, and she feared for Henrik and Dominic alike.

She glanced at her watch, and judged that enough time had passed to give Raf a boost without depleting her own reserves too badly. Raf’s colour was a little better, and she smiled as she told him as much.

“That’s your lot for now, I’m afraid - the buffet bar is now closed. I’m going to set another bag of saline running for you, then it’s up to you. Keep up the pressure on that dressing if you can. I’m going to leave a couple of dressings here for you: just tape over the old one if you need to use a new one - don’t remove it.” He nodded in understanding as she set about de-coupling them and starting the new bag.

She stood, assessed herself and was pleased to find that she wasn’t at all light headed following the transfusion: she had judged it well.

“You’ll be alright, Raf.” She was telling him, not asking him, and he nodded as best he could for the thick dressing taped at his neck. “I’m coming back for you, you know - you just hold on.”

She looked down at him for a long moment, then impulsively stooped and kissed his forehead, then turned back to the job at hand. She re-tied her hair, and reached up to the opening in the ceiling. He wondered if he might be a little delirious as he watched her hoist herself back up and start climbing hand over hand up the cable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a doctor, a soldier or a lift engineer. Everything Bernie does here is almost certainly wrong and stupid (but supercool, no?). If you’re ever caught in a hostage situation, remember this fic and think “What Would Bernie Wolfe Do?” and do the exact opposite.
> 
> And yes, *obviously* she could have opened the lift on the ground floor - i just really wanted to see her ninja her way into that lift ;-)


	5. I’m On The Hunt, I’m After You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it’s not just Raf that needs saving...

It took Bernie a couple of minutes to get back up to the open lift door and climb out, stepping carefully over the crowbar. Rubbing the feeling back into her hands, she left the crowbar in place, afraid that letting the doors close would make too much noise. She knew from Jason that Fredrik was on the move towards Darwin, and she made a quick decision.

“Time to change those keycodes, Jason. Can you make a global change for me? All doors to 011065 - have you got that?”

She heard the smile in his voice as he repeated it back to her, and she knew that he recognised the number. “Auntie Serena’s birthday - neither of us will forget that,” he said approvingly. She heard the clicking of his keyboard over the line, then a high-pitched beep. “There - it’s done. Every door in the building. Wherever Fredrik is now, he’s stuck there.”

Bernie hummed her agreement, but she hoped they hadn’t trapped him in with anyone else… “Where is he now, Jason? What’s his precise location?”

“He’s on the long corridor on the first floor. He’s got access to the stairs and all the main corridors, but not to any of the wards or theatres. He came through AAU but he didn’t stop, I don’t think he saw anyone there.”

“Good, that’s excellent. Keep watching him, I’m going to head into AAU and check on them before anything else. No-one’s going to hurt anyone else on that ward, not on my watch.”

Letting herself into the ward, Bernie called out to Donna.

“Nurse Jackson? It’s Bernie - Ms Wolfe. Is everyone okay here?”

Donna looked round from behind the curtain incredulously. “Ms Wolfe? What are you doing here?” She took in Bernie’s long, lean form, covered in dirt and blood. “Oh my God - did he hit you? Sit down - let me assess you.”

“No, no - I’m fine, Donna. Really. Listen, I can’t stop - but is anyone here hurt? Do any of your patients need immediate intervention?”

“We just need fluids, but I didn’t dare go out there. He came through here about ten minutes ago - I think it’s Jeremy Warren, he’s the son of a patient who died here a few weeks ago - he thinks it’s my fault, mine and Ric’s. If he finds me…”

Bernie put her hands on Donna’s shoulders. “It’s not him, Donna - it’s not Jeremy Warren. You’re in no more danger than anyone else, and nor is Ric. I know where the gunman is, and I’m going to stop him, but I’m going to get those fluids for you first. Stay put, I’ll be right back.”

She piled a couple of boxes of supplies onto a trolley in the store room, and checked in with Jason.

“The police are outside, Bernie, but they can’t get in because we changed the key codes. Should I let them in? There’s an awful lot of them, and they’ve all got guns.” He sounded uneasy, and she thought her answer through carefully.

“We need to let them in, but not yet. I want to make sure that when they reach Fredrik, they’ll have no reason to shoot. If I can isolate him with your help, we’ll be able to tell them exactly where he is and what the situation is. As it is, they’d be going in blind, and there are still people around who could get hurt. What’s his latest position?”

“He’s between Darwin and Keller, just approaching Darwin. It looks as though he’s heading to Keller, I should say.”

That was what Bernie had been afraid of. She took a couple of calming breaths, centred herself and made her next plan. She delivered the fluids to Donna, told her to reassure Ezra that his mother was outside and being well looked after, then set off up the next flight of stairs.

***

Up on Darwin, Oliver Valentine’s hand was steady. The operation had gone as well as he could have hoped for even under better circumstances, but they would only know if had been successful once they took David off bypass.

“We need to increase the mean pressure before we can take him off -” Ollie was interrupted by Morven’s gasp of horror. He turned to see Fredrik’s shadow pass slowly by the window, and saw him stop at the door to their theatre.

“He knows the code,” Morven said tremulously.

They heard the bleeping of the keypad and the rattle of the door handle, followed by a muttered Swedish curse. Six beeps again, another rattle, then it fell silent. They held their breath as the shadow paused, then moved on as Fredrik stalked on down the long interconnecting corridor. Moments later, a second silent shadow passed by the window, some way behind him. Ollie and Morven stared at each other.

“Was that...?”

Morven shrugged, her eyes wide above her surgical mask. “Do you know any other tall blonde ninjas?”

Waiting a few moments longer until it was certain that the immediate danger had passed, they turned back to the table. Oliver had marvelled at Roxanna’s strength and determination as she had watched her husband opened up and operated upon in such awful circumstances, and any last traces of resentment about Tara’s death were washed away. He couldn’t truly believe that this woman would have made any less effort to save his wife than they were now making to save her husband. It was Oliver who tried valiantly to resuscitate David when he flatlined, and it was Morven, calm and professional now that the danger had passed, who stilled his hand, and led Roxanna to her husband’s side to grieve undisturbed by Fredrik or the mayhem he had left elsewhere in the hospital.

***

Bernie was thirty feet or so behind Fredrik, darting from doorway to doorway unheard and unseen by the tall hooded figure. Her hands were itching for her assault rifle, but she was glad she didn’t have it: she knew that her training would potentially override her thought processes in this heightened state, and her objective was always to preserve life, not to take or endanger it, especially here in Holby. As they neared Keller, it became unmistakably apparent that this was Fredrik’s intended destination, and she took a moment to duck into an alcove.

“Update me, Jason?” she murmured, keeping an eye on the corridor.

“Dr Copeland got all the patients and staff into theatre before I changed the codes. Fredrik would have to get through two doors to get to them, so they should be safe. Mr Hanssen is on the main ward on Keller. I think he was talking to Dr Copeland and Nurse Chiltern through the door, but now he’s just standing at the main door as if he’s waiting for Fredrik to come.”

Bernie risked a glance round the corner of her hiding place. Fredrik had slowed to a swagger and had evidently spotted his father through the glass of the double doors between the corridor and the ward. He pushed at the doors, then tried the code again, but evidently without any expectation of its working this time. Instead, he leaned on his rifle and crossed his ankles casually, and Bernie could hear the smile in his voice as he called through the glass.

“Hello, Father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry - David still had to die, but at least this way Roxanna won’t be traumatised for life by having to decide which life to try and save. That’s a good outcome, right?


	6. Face Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fredrik’s name goes firmly on the Naughty list, and Bernie is Very, Very Good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue borrowed from the episode, adapted to fit the change of circumstances, and a hasty reference to Christmas shoe-horned in as I remember this is supposed to be a festive story. Whoops!

“ _Hello Father_.”

Fredrik twisted his neck and rolled his shoulders as though he was just waking up. He took his hood down and met Henrik’s even gaze through the glass.

Henrik’s voice was muffled by the doors, but Bernie could hear his precise tones clearly.

“This has to stop now.” Fredrik stared at him defiantly, and Henrik made a tiny placatory gesture. “It’s just us, alright?”

Fredrik held his gaze for a few long moments, then put the rifle down on a nearby trolley, and Bernie could see the relief in Henrik’s body language. She was far from convinced it was over, though. Fredrik took off his coat, as though he was shedding a suit of armour. He draped it over the trolley, and slowly, deliberately, without breaking eye contact with his father, he picked the gun up again, and glanced meaningfully over Hanssen’s shoulder towards the Keller operating theatre, where they both knew Dominic and the remainder of the staff and patients were barricaded in. Fredrik smirked as he shifted the rifle in his hands, testing the weight, enjoying the heavy feeling of the gun, and the power he finally held over his father.

There was a long pause, and Bernie held her breath, and tensed ready to sprint and tackle the young man if that’s what it took.

“What have you done, Fredrik, hmm? And on Christmas Eve, of all days.” Henrik sighed sadly, brokenly.

The young man was silent, but he shifted his weight onto his back foot, raising the rifle a little

“Fredrik, nobody’s a threat to you. We need to communicate, find a way to resolve this. I just want to listen to you.”

Fredrik’s frame was tense, his shoulders hunched, his knuckles white, but he lowered the gun to waist height, and Bernie and Henrik relaxed infinitesimally. Hanssen cleared his throat.

“So. A lot of people are hurt, Fredrik.”

“I know.”

“So let’s just keep this between us now, alright? Whatever you want -”

“No, I don’t want anything from you. Not anymore.”

Bernie was worried by the strange calmness that Fredrik was displaying. There was so little emotion in his voice and his demeanour, and it felt as though he was a man with an endgame in mind.

“Let me come to you,” Hanssen pleaded, taking a tentative step forward, and finally the boy raised his voice.

“You stay there! I decide how this ends.”

Hanssen took a small step back from the door and inclined his head in acquiescence. “Okay.”

“ _Me!_ ”

“Okay. I know.” Hanssen spoke as calmly as he knew how, but Fredrik’s ire was raised now, and he had reached his breaking point. He raised the rifle, and before Bernie could react, he had fired two shots at the keypad. There was a fizzing sound as the lock short-circuited, then a click, and he kicked the door open, swinging round so that he had a clear view of the corridor, and Bernie ducked quickly back into the alcove.

 _Shit_. It was the only way onto the ward, and Fredrik had effectively taken away any possibility of her taking him by surprise. She glanced around looking for inspiration, and stepping up onto the chair behind her, she tested the ceiling panel, which moved easily. She wasn’t sure if the suspended ceiling would bear her weight, but she was out of other options.

The sound of the television that had been left switched on at the nurses’ station covered the sounds of her movement, and testing for load-bearing first, she pulled herself up for what she hoped would be the last time. She steadied herself, distributing her weight as widely as she could on the struts, and moved cautiously towards Keller and Fredrik, one hand, one foot at a tmie. God, she hoped it would hold her for long enough.

“...  _sources from within the hospital say that shots have been fired..._ ”

It seemed that Fredrik was transfixed by the news report as it occurred for him to the first time that there was a world outside the hospital, and he was fascinated hearing the description of himself.

“ _... disgraced former surgeon..._ ”

“Mud sticks,” he remarked almost casually.

“I don’t know,” Henrik played for time. “You came back from that, you can -”

Fredrik spoke over him with a bitter little laugh. “The first time I’ve been called a surgeon.”

Perhaps it was the incongruity of hearing the sacred word _surgeon_ applied to the madman his son had become. Henrik straightened up, his voice purposeful and authoritative now. “Right. Put the gun down. This has to end now, my boy.”

Fredrik smiled. “That what I’m here to do.”

As he raised the rifle again, there was a sudden commotion at the door to the operating theatre, and from a crack between ceiling panels, Bernie could see Dom pressed up against the glass, and Lofty trying desperately to pull him away.

Fredrik swung round, exasperated. “You couldn’t let me have this one moment.”

Dom’s voice, faint through two doors, was tremulous but determined. “Fredrik, please, I never meant -”

Hanssen was as stern as Bernie had ever heard him. “Mr Copeland, get away from the door _now_.” Lofty wrestled him away from the glass, and Fredrik turned back to face his father, speaking softly, dangerously. His voice rose gradually, though, as they spoke back and forth, father and son, across each other, neither truly hearing the other.

“This family of yours, I’m not part of it and I accept it but you aren’t either, it’s all fake, built on sand.”

“Frederik, good lad, don’t do this.”

“You’re not happy, you don’t cope, neither of us do.”

“Fredrik, put the gun down, you’re not yourself.”

“That’s the problem, I am myself, you are yourself -”

Fredrik raised the gun one last time and Henrik stepped in close to him, grasping it by the barrel and twisting it away from himself, the muzzle pointing upwards, trapped between them. From her vantage point above them, Bernie could see that Frederik was letting Henrik turn it towards his son, not knowing that his finger was waiting on the trigger, and she kicked away the panel directly above the struggling pair.

“I had hoped for suicide by cop, but suicide by Pop will do just as well,” Fredrik gasped.

Bernie dropped from the ceiling like an avenging fury and knocked Fredrik away from his father, a twist of his wrist disarming him. She rolled him over onto his belly as she kicked the weapon away from him, and barked an order at the dumbstruck CEO.

“Find me something to restrain him with, Henrik.”

The immediate shock past, Henrik reached into the drugs cabinet beside the nurses’ station and drew a syringe out of the drawer, quickly filling it from a small bottle. He knelt by Bernie’s side, swiftly pushed the needle deep into Fredrik’s buttock and depressed the plunger. Fredrik lashed out wildly, the back of his head catching Bernie by surprise, and she felt a trickle of blood from her split lip.

“Fredrik, stop struggling. I’ve given you a sedative: it will take a few minutes to take effect, but you will find it less unpleasant if you relax into it. Be calm, now, my boy.”

Tears trickled down Fredrik’s face, and he twisted his neck to look up at Bernie desperately. “Why couldn’t you let me finish it? Why couldn’t you let me find peace?”

Her face was impassive. “Like the peace you tried to give Raf Di Lucca? And whoever your father has been stitching back together in the basement? That’s not peace, Mr Johanssen, it’s chaos. This a place of healing, and you have betrayed your profession as well as your family today. If you ever find any peace at all, you won’t find it through violence. I’ve seen enough of that, and I know it can’t be found at the end of a gun. Henrik, restraints, please.”

He knelt again, a roll of bandage in his hands, and together they secured his hands and feet. He was starting to become drowsy now, and he struggled to speak.

“Oskar…”

“Will be under my protection,” Hanssen interjected smoothly. “The police will be here very soon, and when they arrive you will be given over to their care. You will face the consequences of your actions today, but I will do everything in my power to ensure that your son is not punished for your failures as a parent, nor for mine. This cycle of blame and recrimination will end here.”

As Fredrik lapsed into unconsciousness, Bernie brought a trolley over, and together, she and Hanssen put him into the recovery position and moved him into the consultants’ office, the digits of Serena’s birthday still opening doors for her.

“Jason - are you still there? Good. Fredrik is secured now: can you isolate Mr Levy’s office, please? Then reset the keypads to the previous codes. It’s time to let the police do their job. Once they tell you that you can leave the building, take that box of saline to the ambulance with the khaki rucksack next to it - Mrs Cranham needs fluids urgently.”

Hanssen looked at her in astonishment. She smiled sadly at him.

“You might want to consider giving Jason Haynes a Christmas bonus. Or a new job in security.”

He nodded his head once, his expression grave.

“Thank you, Ms Wolfe. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You said something about Mr Di Lucca…?”

“Give the order and get those lifts working, Henrik - right now.”

And she was off again, running now, determined that she would keep her promise. No-one was going to die on her watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Again - no reason whatsoever for Bernie to go up into the ceiling void, other than for the need for her to descend from the heavens like an absolute boss. 
> 
> That vest is going to want a wash.


	7. Blood, Sweat and Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit late today - actual real life Christmas Eve getting in the way of posting - sorry! The final chapter is all completed and ready for you to unwrap for Christmas, though :-)
> 
> Now read on for more unlikely deeds of heroism...

She charged back to the foyer, not worrying this time about remaining out of sight, or about the thundering of her boots on the vinyl floor. She reached the bank of lifts only a little out of breath, and hit the call button. To her dismay, nothing happened: there was no whirring of machinery, no light illuminating the display panel. She had left the crowbar jammed in the door upstairs: loathe to waste time running up to fetch it, she looked round for something to prise the doors open, and saw a discarded NHS crutch leaning against the wall. It would have to do. With the side of her boot, she forced the rubber ferrule off the end, exposing a sharper edge, and struck a sideways blow to the edge of the door. She struck again and again, until there was enough of a dent to force the end of the rigid aluminium into the gap and lever the door open. 

She wedged the crutch in the open door and almost fell into the lift. Raf was slumped up against the wall as she had left him, his eyes closed, his face pale. The dressing was still in place, and she saw that he had managed to apply another one over the top. A little blood had seeped through, but only a very little. If his wound was still bleeding, it was at least slow. She put two fingers to the good side of his neck and gave a sharp cry of relief: he was unconscious but alive. She pulled the empty bag from his arm, and crouching down beside him, she got one arm beneath his knees and the other around his shoulders, and she stood with a soft grunt, lifting him in her arms as though he weighed no more than a child, his head lolling against her shoulder. 

“Come on then, Raf - let’s get you some proper attention. Outside, I think - Fletch will be waiting for you, and if Jason’s managed it, there should be all the fluids you could ask for.” As she carried him to the main entrance, lockdown was finally lifted, and the lights snapped on almost in her wake. As she bore him towards the double doors, the power was fully restored, and they opened smoothly for her as she walked on without breaking her stride. 

She pushed through a crowd of reporters, patients and staff all clamouring for her attention, but her only thought was for Raf, and the crowd made way for her, falling back slightly in awe of this goddess-like figure. As she reached the ambulance next to Mrs Cranham’s, Fletch was there to receive him, and he slipped his hands under Raf’s arms. Together they lifted him onto the rig and onto the waiting gurney. Fletch expertly hooked up a new bag of fluids, clipped a pulse-ox to his finger and set about attaching ECG stickers to his friend’s chest. They removed the dressing and checked his wound: a bit scrappy, Bernie thought, but holding firm for now. He would need it seeing to properly when they were able to get him onto AAU, but all things considered, she was pleased with her work. 

“IV antibiotics as soon as you can, please Fletch,” she ordered. He nodded without taking his eyes off his patient. He was washing the blood away from Raf’s face as he came to, and looking up into Fletch’s face, he raised a weak hand to his cheek and stroked a thumb along the edge of his beard, as Fletch murmured, “There you are, darling.” He choked back a sob, and clasped Raf's hand more closely to his face.

“You bloody great berk, getting yourself shot!”

Raf’s laugh disintegrated into a cough, and his other hand went reflexively to his wounded neck.

“You leave that alone - the Major’s done a lovely job there. Bernie, I can’t thank you enough - don’t know what I’d do if I lost him…”

Bernie smiled warmly and pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Me neither, Fletch. You look after him now.”

 

Giving them room and a little privacy, she turned to the door of the ambulance, and surveyed the crowd before her. She was looking for Ric, but her eyes were drawn straight to a dark-haired woman in a bright red coat, standing a little beyond the edge of the crowd, arm in arm with a young woman. On her other side stood Jason, and he gave her a little wave. She jumped down from the ambulance, and batted away the reporters as she pushed through the throng until she stood before Serena, unable to believe her eyes. Her hair shone with silver threads, the creases at the corners of her eyes were deeper than she remembered, and she was utterly, utterly beautiful.

Suddenly shy, and painfully aware of the state she was in, Bernie lifted the hem of her vest to wipe the dust and sweat from her face, thereby exposing abdominal muscles that might not quite have resembled a washboard, but which displayed a level of definition that had not been there before her recent stint in North Africa.

“Hel- _lo_ , soldier,” murmured Serena appreciatively.

Bernie smiled shyly, still in shock and standing an arm’s length from Serena. She stuttered a little, then cleared her throat. “You - you’re home early - I thought your flight wasn’t until the weekend?” 

“I couldn’t stay away when I knew you were going to be home for Christmas. We got back this morning, then I saw the news, and Jason texted me, told me what you were doing…” Serena’s voice wavered, and she seemed to crumple a little, and Elinor held her arm tightly, supporting her mother, concern written on her face.

“Oh, Bernie, you _idiot_ \- you could have been killed!”

And then she was in in Bernie’s arms, tears flowing, her arms tight around her waist, face buried in the crook of her neck. 

“Serena, Serena. It’s all right, I’ve got you. I’m fine, Raf’s fine and it’s all over now.” She pulled back and smoothed a hand across the softness of Serena’s cheek, wiping the tears away. “I’m okay, you’re okay, the world can go round,” she smiled.

Serena swatted her shoulder. “Hey, that’s my line!”

She looked up into Bernie’s eyes, and finally sure that all was well, she pulled her towards her and their lips met at last, blood, sweat and tears mingling in their kiss.

 ***

“I couldn’t have done any of it without Jason,” Bernie said, looking proudly at the young man. “He kept me safe - he kept the whole place safe. He’s the real hero of the hour.”

“Not really, Auntie Bernie, that was you. You were brilliant. I’m going to put together a supercut from the CCTV to show Auntie Serena.”

“Well, just make sure you don’t share it with anyone else - I’ve told Mr Hanssen he should hire you as a security consultant - don’t blow it by breaching the Data Protection Act! Seriously, though - he was extraordinary, Serena. He wouldn't let me into the porter’s room until I’d proved who I was - he wouldn’t even take my ridiculous middle name as proof. The doctor question was a great idea, Jason.”

“Yes, I was pleased with it. Anyone else might have guessed I meant Mr Hanssen or Auntie Serena, but you knew exactly what I meant.”

Serena felt a little out of the loop. “Do I want to know?”

Bernie smiled. “Classified information, I’m afraid. No, no - I’m kidding. Jason very cleverly asked me a Doctor Who question - _you_ wouldn’t have got it right!”

They were sitting on one of the picnic benches near Raf’s ambulance. Bernie had reluctantly given a brief piece to the reporters, and had tolerated (and had secretly rather enjoyed) the adulation of her former colleagues, but things were a little calmer now, and the four of them were being left largely to their own devices for now. Elinor had astounded Bernie by giving her the biggest hug. 

"Thank you for saving Raf, Bernie - you’re amazing!” Turning to her cousin, whose very existence had once caused her so much discontent, she threw her arms around him, much to his consternation. “And you, Jason - what a star.” 

“I don’t really like hugging, Cousin Elinor,” he explained. “But thank you.”

Elinor stepped back immediately. “Oh, I’m so sorry - I forget things a bit still, but I’ll try and remember. Anyway, I’m just very glad you were here.” She beamed at him, and then a thought struck her.

“What _is_ your middle name, Bernie?”

Bracing herself, Bernie told her.

“Griselda? Oh, but that’s so pretty!”

Bernie looked at her suspiciously. “Who are you, and what have you done with the real Elinor Campbell?” she joked, Serena having reassured her that Elinor took teasing in good grace now.

“Oh, this _is_ the real me, honestly - at least, it is now. I really wasn’t very nice before, was I? I’m sorry I was so awful about you before. I’m so glad you’re with Mum now - she’s so much happier than she used to be.”

Bernie squeezed Serena’s hand under the table. “So am I.” 

Her other hand was toying restlessly with something, and Serena looked at it in fond disapproval.

“I think you’re meant to light it,” she twinkled. Once the hubbub had died down a little, Bernie had heard an odd hissing noise from the undergrowth, and had discovered Ric, keeping his head down, but desperate to find out what had happened. She gave him a quick rundown and shooed him away, but he had returned her shirt and jacket, and as an afterthought, had reached into the inside pocket of his own jacket and retrieved a fat cigar.

“I think you’ve earned this.”

She looked sceptically at Serena now, the cigar between her fingers. “You really wouldn’t mind? It’s a bit… well, I don’t know - _butch_ , isn’t it?”

Serena laughed. “Have you seen yourself today, Bernie? You are the very epitome of butch - and I’m not complaining, am I?”

Deciding she might as well go the whole hog, Bernie gave in to temptation and lit the stogie, puffing away blissfully.

 

It had been a good day’s work.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warm welcome, ladies and ... ladies, for not-a-whiny-little-bitch-any-more Elinor Campbell! The fixing never ends!


	8. Yippee-Ki-Yay!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end, and that vest really wants a wash now. Let's wrap this madness up for Christmas, eh?

With the doors to Wyvern Wing open again, the police marksmen were finally inside the building, and Sacha Levy led them to his ward to find Fredrik. He was just starting to come round from his sedative, but he was disoriented and subdued, and had nothing to say to his former mentor, who regarded him sorrowfully. Henrik had not left his side, and he accompanied the police as they took Frederik, handcuffed to the trolley now, to the front of the building where their secure van was waiting to carry him away.

Sacha remained on Keller, and once he had received the all clear from the police, he led the remaining patients out of theatre and back to the corridor. The lifts in that part of the building were unaffected by Bernie’s handiwork, and he saw the less mobile patients loaded up, while those able to manage the stairs started making their own way out of the building. Noticing a distinct lack of his  own staff, he ventured curiously back into the operating theatre, which was empty now as far as he could see. Turning to leave, he heard a muffled noise from behind a mobile screen in the corner of the room, and pulled it back to find Dom thanking Lofty _very_ enthusiastically for pulling him away from Fredrik. Smiling to himself, Sacha quietly pushed the screen back in place and tiptoed out of the theatre.

He arrived downstairs to find his colleagues watching grimly as Fredrik was loaded into the police van. Henrik stood a little aside from his staff, his stern, sad gaze fixed unwaveringly on his broken son. Sacha moved to stand beside him, just letting their shoulders touch for a brief moment. He spoke as kindly as only he could.

“He’ll get the help he needs, Henrik.” 

“And sixty years in Broadmoor, if there's any justice,” Fletch muttered darkly.

The van drew off, and after an awkward silence where no-one knew quite what to do next, Hanssen turned sharply on his heel and stalked back into the hospital.

“Nurse Harrison? An update on Ms Naylor, if you please.”

Essie had helped Professor Gaskell move Jac to AAU, where Donna was now prepping her for surgery while the Professor scrubbed in. The patch had done its job, but now it was time for a more thorough exploratory operation, in a sterile environment, with proper anaesthetic and the right equipment. Hanssen immediately went to find them and assure himself that Jac was doing as well as possible.

Freed from her duties assisting their new colleague, Essie turned to Fletch and clutched his hands. “Raf? Is he…?”“He’s doing well. Thank God Bernie was here - she saved his life, no two ways about it. He lost a lot of blood, but we’ve got him on fluids now and he’s doing alright.” He gently disentangled their hands and turned away, not meeting her eyes, and his voice was gruff. “Here - I’ll take you to him. You’ll want to be together.”

Essie looked at him, her eyes narrowed. Something had changed here, and she was pretty sure she knew what it was. She held out a hand to Sacha. “You’ll come too? He’ll want to see you.”

Sacha shook his head and backed away. “Oh, no, I couldn’t intrude -” but she was pulling him along by his elbow, and he had never been able to refuse her anything.

The ambulance was crowded with the three of them at Raf’s side, and he was a little overwhelmed. Feeling very much like a gooseberry, Sacha shifted uncomfortably and caught Fletch’s eye.

“We should go, leave these two together. Raf should be with his wife now.”

Fletch hung his head, his shoulders dropped, and he nodded glumly, making to squeeze past Essie, but she blocked his way, and glancing at Raf with a shared nod, she looked up into Sacha’s doleful face, and said, “I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“I’m not Raf’s wife. We’re not married.”

Sacha shook his head, confused, and Fletch looked at Raf in bewilderment.

“Yes you are, we had a party for you and everything, mate.”

Raf reached out for his hand and held on tight. “Did you really think I’d get married without you there? The only reason I didn’t ask you to be my best man is that I wanted you to be my _groom_. But you never took my hints - for goodness’ sake, Fletch, why d’you think I wanted you and the kids to move in with me in the first place?” His throat was sore, and he shot Essie a pleading glance. “Tell them, would you?”

She was still standing between Sacha and the door, and she took his hands. “It’s true. We’ve always been good friends - all that business with Kim and Parker threw us together, but it’s never been more than that. Well - we tried for a while, but we were both still in love with other people.” She looked at Sacha meaningfully. “You and I were going nowhere, though, and we were right to take the time apart - I do believe that. We needed that time and space away from each other, away from the whole baby thing. So when Raf confided in me how hard it was to be around Fletch and for him never to see what was in front of him, well… it seems silly now, but we thought if you believed we were together, it might sort of...force your hand, Fletch. We honestly didn’t think it would literally take a bullet to the jugular to get your attention…”

Fletch scowled, but there was a smile breaking through. “If you weren’t my patient right now I’d knock your lights out, you daft sod,” he told Raf, twisting their fingers together.

Sacha was still standing dumbly looking at Essie, jaw agape. He shook his head slowly.

“You kept it up all this time… just to get Fletch’s attention?”

Essie blushed. “Well, not _just_ Raf’s… Did it work?”

She was suddenly crushed in a mighty bear hug, and he rocked her gently for a moment. “You always had my attention, Essie. You never lost it.”

***

Outside the ambulance, where she had been standing listening with increasing glee, Serena winked at Bernie, and said, “It looks as though your work here is done, darling.”

“Not quite, Ms Campbell, Ms Wolfe.” Henrik had appeared behind them silently, and they turned to him, sobering up as they took in his tired, drawn features. “Might we take a moment to debrief in my office?”

Walking to the lift, Bernie and Serena in wordless agreement moved to either side of him, in silent support of their friend and boss. He wasn’t a man who appreciated or invited physical contact, but they could do this much for him. Serena dared a hand to his elbow as they exited the lift into the management suite, and he did not shake her off.

He took his customary seat at the great desk, and composed himself as he straightened up the familiar row of pencils. “Take a seat, please,” he invited them, gesturing at the chairs opposite him, and he spoke directly to Bernie.

“You have saved my boy, my life and my staff. In fact, you have quite possibly saved the whole hospital. Holby is in your debt, Ms Wolfe, as am I. I don’t think I can ever repay you sufficiently.”

Serena piped up “Well, there is one thing, Henrik...” but he held up a finger.

“I haven’t finished, Ms Campbell. It has been proved beyond a doubt today that this hospital is in great need of a trauma unit. Would you consider returning to us, on a permanent basis? I would like you to start after Christmas. I should add that the same invitation is extended to Ms Campbell: co-leads, as before.”

They looked at each other, and pretended to consider the offer.

“What do you think, Bernie?”

She inclined her head deferentially. “Well, we are equals, after all...”

 

“I have made a couple of phone calls and have arranged for Dr Burrows to act as a locum while Mr Di Lucca recuperates “ 

Serena cleared her throat loudly, fixing him with a meaningful look from under a raised eyebrow.  “By which, of course, I mean to say that Dr Burrows will be offered a permanent position on AAU.”

She smiled serenely. “An excellent suggestion.”

Bernie spoke up for the first time. “Henrik… I see a counsellor who specialises in post traumatic stress disorder - he’s very good. I’ve found it really invaluable. Can I give him your number - please?”

He looked at her impassively, then gave a tiny nod.

“Thank you. That sounds eminently sensible. Now, the police will want to speak to you, but I have explained to them that have just returned from a gruelling tour of duty and will make yourself available to them tomorrow, not before. I’m sure you will want to go home and get cleaned up. And may I wish you both a  very merry Christmas - you have certainly saved mine.”

 

They left his office and Serena looked her partner up and down, taking in the dust, sweat and grease from the ventilation ducts and the lift; the muscles still pumped from her exertions; the smatter of blood on her split lip, and above all the now very grimy white tank top. She licked her lips.

“Home, yes - clean… no. I think I might like you a bit dirty...”

Bernie’s great honk of a laugh was music to her ears, and she shrieked as her gallant Major swung her up into her arms and carried her back to the lift.

“My very own action hero, Serena sighed.

“Yippee-ki-yay, motherf-”

But Bernie’s battle cry was cut off suddenly, and she smiled into Serena’s kiss. She had saved the day, got the girl, and now she would take her home for Christmas. 

 _Yippee-ki-yay_ indeed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE, I FIXED IT FOR YOU
> 
> Sorry about Arthur - I figured if Sacha couldn’t save him, no-one could - but the writers have fixed things for Morven now, so I don’t have to :-)
> 
> Word has it that Zosia is on her way back to Holby to annual her marriage to Ollie and tend to Jac’s wounds. Ollie? Oh, I don’t know - maybe Roxanna when enough time has gone by for it to be decent? So about three weeks in Holby Time.
> 
> So that’s Ninja!Bernie hanging up her dirty white vest for good now. Unless, of course, anyone needs busting out of prison any time soon… ;-D
> 
> Happy Christmas!


End file.
